


A thousand cranes

by olympia_m



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympia_m/pseuds/olympia_m
Summary: Wishing, healing, moving on





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I started writing fanfiction again, Shelly asked me if I would post my old stories. I don't like most of them, but some I have decided to share... Here's one of them. Originally posted at LJ, some 9-10 years ago...  
> (also, for some reason, fusing Yami no Matsuei with the Finder series had - and has - been a _thing_... what can I say?)

What had brought Akihito there was a stupid argument, all things considered. All those weeks he had been held in Hong Kong, the only thing that had kept him sane was the thought of returning to Asami, being held by him, being reassured that everything was alright, that it didn’t matter if he was rash sometimes, and sometimes naive and ... He wanted to go back to Asami, because Asami had become synonymous with safety and love and acceptance and – and what did he do the moment he was back? Have a stupid argument about being independent and alright and in no need of help. 

At least Asami hadn’t sent him packing, but had sent him instead to a seaside hotel, promising that he’d come visit him in the weekend. Akihito was grateful for that. He was even tempted to forget all about his pride and go back to Asami, but, as he was unpacking, he could see the sea from the window. A different sea from the one he could sometimes see from Feilong’s building; a welcoming, friendly sea. A sea that was vast and perfectly blue in the sunlight. He decided to stay for a day or two, or maybe until the weekend. 

Once unpacked he went out to the sea. Closed spaces made him uncomfortable; how would he stay in that place? But the sea was wide and blue, and there was a slight, fresh wind blowing. He could stay there until night fall. Akihito chose a spot between the hotel and the sea, where he could see everyone but where he was in no one’s way. He thought he saw Kirishima somewhere, but it was probably his imagination. Kirishima was back in Tokyo recovering from his injury. He fell asleep. 

He woke under an umbrella and covered with a light blanket. Asami was looking out for him even there, and Akihito wondered why he stayed. It wouldn’t make him less of a man to admit that he needed help. Asami had suggested it himself, and if someone like Asami could suggest therapy, then why was Akihito balking at the idea? He went back to his room, fell to bed to think on it and fell back to sleep. 

On the morning of the second day, he took a book with him down to the beach. He went to the same spot as the previous day, opened his book and didn’t read a word. Not that he was thinking or remembering; these things were beyond him. Looking at the people and the sea was enough for him, was all that he seemed capable of doing. Perhaps he ought to go back to Asami. 

A waiter brought him water and a salad at around noon and he thanked him. He ought to be thanking Asami instead. Why was he there? Ah, yes, because the sea was good for him. Relaxing. Soothing. Peaceful. He liked the sea. 

He liked the sea, but the sun was probably not as good for him. By mid-afternoon he had started having hallucinations. Although he hadn’t expected to see samurai by the beach. Surely samurai had to be in mountains or by rivers, and not the sea. He checked his book, but it was a crime story, and not a historical novel. “What a bizarre hallucination,” he said loudly, and the hallucination stared at him. “Get out of here. You ought to be by a temple, or a mountain.”

“Excuse me?”

He hadn’t any experience with hallucinations, but they were not supposed to answer back. Perhaps it was a ghost. Ghosts could communicate with the living, or so some claimed. “What the hell is a samurai ghost doing here?”

The ghost blinked. Then it offered him a bottle of mineral water. “You’ve been out in the sun for too long, haven’t you? Here.”

Akihito blinked. He took the bottle slowly. Expensive, imported, still mineral water, the kind that Asami ostentatiously displayed when he wanted to impress. Ghosts didn’t drink mineral water, did they? What if it wasn’t water? 

“It’s just water and you need it more than I do right now,” the ghost said somewhat impatiently. “Drink.”

Akihito drank. It was cool, and the taste reminded him of Asami. “You’re not a ghost,” he finally said. 

“Well...” The man smiled. “Not yet, anyway.” 

“Sorry.” Akihito made a gesture, asking him to sit down.

“I’ve been told I look horrible,” the man said quietly as he sat.

Akihito didn’t say anything to that. He’d been told the same thing. He looked at the sea. “It’s quiet here.”

“Yes.” 

They didn’t say anything else, but Akihito didn’t mind. The man was really dressed like a samurai about town, but his silence was reassuring somehow, and peaceful. He didn’t make him feel as safe as Asami, but almost as safe. 

The morning of the third day the man was at Akihito’s spot, still dressed like a samurai, still quiet, still looking like a ghost. Akihito nodded at him as he sat down with his book. “I might need help,” he said. 

The man looked at him.

“I’m scared. If I go back, if I... I will remember. I don’t want to remember.” As if he couldn’t feel still Feilong raping him, or all the men who’d beaten him. The bruises on his body were still there. Every time he closed his eyes in his room, he woke up wondering if Asami would free him today, or if Feilong would make him a crack whore. And then he remembered where he was. 

“Memories make us what we are.”

He shuddered. “And you?”

“I’m here because I can’t forget.” 

“You sound like you’d rather forget.”

“Not even death will make me forget.” The man smiled. “That sounded so pretentious.”

Akihito smiled and waved. “Well, you are already dressed the part. I mean, your clothes are already pretentious.”

“Really?” The man seemed to look at himself for the first time. Then he looked around. “Indeed.” His smile widened. “Indeed,” he said, and then he started laughing. “I’m such a relic.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Akihito protested. 

“Maybe not you, but I would.” He stopped laughing, but continued smiling. “The first step to getting help is admitting you need it. After that, everything is... not easy, but at least possible.”

“Are you talking about yourself or me?”

The man looked at the sea. Akihito noticed the box beside him for the first time, filled with small, colourful paper squares. “I’ll make a thousand cranes and drown them to the sea,” he said.

Akihito frowned. “You’re supposed to dedicate them at a shrine. Or keep them at home.”

“Aren’t I?” The man smiled. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I won't get my wish no matter how many cranes I do.” 

“Perhaps you’ll get your wish,” Akihito said. When the man stayed quiet, hands busy folding the little squares into cranes that he dropped back into the box, he opened his book and went back to studying the sea. He ought to go back.

The man was not there on the morning of the fourth day. But Asami was there, two days earlier, and looking strong and collected and implacable. “You’re packing your things and coming with me. Now.” 

Akihito hugged him, feeling tears at the edge of his eyes. “Take me home,” he managed to say against Asami’s chest, wishing Asami would hold him tighter. 

“As if I would ever leave you,” Asami told him as he led him to his car. 

A week later Akihito received a box with a thousand cranes all strung up and ready for him together with a card with the man’s name and address and an invitation to visit him, valid forever. ‘I’m making another thousand for your health,’ the hand-written message at the back said, ‘but these are for you to wish upon.’ 

“Akihito? Who was that?” Asami called from the bedroom. 

“The delivery boy. Had the wrong number. Nothing important.”

When he would dedicate them, he knew what he would wish for.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything was supposed to be perfect, but so far, things didn’t seem to go exactly as planned. When Asami had heard his idea, he’d raised an eyebrow, tied him to the bed and didn’t let him up until it was so late they almost missed their train. Of course, it could have been worse; Asami could have denied him, or they could have taken the car, but still.... the beginning was inauspicious. 

Also, it might have been a mistake taking the bullet train. Even in first class Asami stood out. His suit was more expensive than anyone else’s, his expression grim and scornful, and Kirishima and Suoh were so conspicuous, people near them had asked to change seats – even moving to standard class seats. The fact that it was still ‘so goddamned early’, as Asami had put it, didn’t make things easier. Asami looked like a God of War, even in his sleep. Akihito took his picture. Several times. 

When they arrived in Kyoto the weather was miserable. It was cloudy and looked like it would rain. Asami said nothing, but his lips tightened for a moment, and he almost raised an eyebrow. Akihito didn’t allow himself to be discouraged. “I was thinking, we could go first to the Hoganji temples and then to the Shosei-en Garden.”

Asami did raise his eyebrow at that. “Do I look like a birds and bees kind of guy?”

Kirishima and Suoh shook their heads. Akihito glared at them for a second, and they stopped. “I was thinking we could have tea there.”

“Hm.” Asami looked at the sky. “I know you brought me here so that the others can plan a surprise birthday party for me at Sion,” he said.

Akihito looked away and tried to think of the best way to deny that.

“But,” Asami tilted Akihito’s head towards him, “I don’t mind,” he continued. “Just, no gardens.” 

Akihito couldn’t have looked away even if he were free. “Alright,” he murmured. Then he grinned, took a step back and Asami had to let him go. “But anything else is okay?”

Asami smiled a little. “Yes.”

“Great.” He took out his camera and took pictures of their surroundings. “Follow me.”

Asami did that. Akihito continued viewing the world through his lens, when all he wanted to do was look back. Asami was still playing at being in charge of their relationship, but he wasn’t. Not really. After initial protests or cynical remarks Asami always acquiesced to his whims. As if he was feeling guilty, or protective, or... Akihito wanted to say he was not a child anymore, but – saying that would be the same as admitting that he was a child in Asami’s mind. 

“I first came to Kyoto with my school. It was the annual school trip, you see, and we had to go to all the guidebook highlights. By the end of that week I was certain I would never see another temple again, ever.” That was what Asami expected to hear; random facts about him, bits and pieces of a happy childhood. That’s what he would tell Asami. He turned around suddenly, catching Asami staring at him with a carefully blank expression. Liar. He took the picture before Asami could protest. 

“You should photograph the sights, not me,” Asami said. 

“Why? You’re far more interesting.” He grinned and took another picture, just as Asami was raising his hand to cover his face. 

“Idiot,” Asami said fondly. 

Akihito turned and continued isolating images. This one had a certain charm, that one could have been cute, that seemed interesting. He still had nightmares, though not as many as in the beginning. Three nights ago, he’d woken up and thrown up, the awareness of how fragile his life was, how ephemeral Asami’s life was, suddenly overwhelming. Kyoto seemed to have lasted forever; they wouldn’t. He took another picture of Asami, this time smirking, bemused. 

“Everything seems larger through the camera lens. With this one, I can’t get everything.”

“Didn’t you bring any other lenses with you? How careless.”

“I did, but – the perfect camera would be one replicating the human eye experience. I haven’t found that yet.”

Asami caught his arm. “There’s the Nishi Hoganji. Didn’t you want to go there?” 

“No, not anymore. Let’s keep walking.” 

Kyoto seemed like it would last forever. When he’d first visited they had been rushed through temples and gardens and pathways. It had made him think of a massive movie set. But this was not a good idea. Asami still looked out of place, and he was not only a birds and bees kind of guy, but also not a casual shopping kind of guy, nor a temple visiting kind of guy, or .... He followed Akihito, but didn’t seem to care about anything else but Akihito. Kirishima and Suoh were equally oblivious and out of place. 

Next year, he’d tie a ribbon around him and let Asami unwrap it. If there was a next year. If there was an Asami and him next year. 

“So, what have you planned for me?”

When Akihito took another picture of him, Asami sighed. “Fine.” He fixed his sunglasses. “Do I look more like a model now?” he said as he took out his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. 

Akihito didn’t answer in words. This set of pictures would be the best, or would that perhaps be the one he took next? Asami at Kiyomizu-dera, his mouth curling upwards like the temple’s rooftop, Kyoto at the background, his for the taking, the rain holding back until they were under cover. Asami by the river, wet leaves daring to trail on his hair, rain drops daring to run down his cheeks, the river a quiet dragon reflected in his glasses. Asami by the entrance of traditional shops, looking incongruous and huge, his presence imposing and forbidding. A God of War, temporarily at peace, surveying his territory, and Kirishima and Suoh were his confused, but obedient attendants. 

If there was no next year, he’d have the pictures to remember. 

“I thought I’d take you for lunch,” he said when all his film rolls were finished. 

Asami followed him and, if he was a little surprised with Akihito’s choice of restaurant, he didn’t show it. But that too had been a mistake. For once, Asami looked exactly where he should be: elegant and well-mannered and with all the assurance of a daimyo, his faithful attendants at his side. It could have been a scene from a samurai movie and Aihito had never felt more out of place. Even at Sion he felt more at ease – perhaps after being in that club so often. And Asami was still protective, showing him by example how he was supposed to eat the delicately arranged and presented morsels, pouring him drink after drink, and laughing only when Akihito got the jokes the equally delicately arranged and presented geisha told.

“That was nice,” Asami said at the end, when they were alone for a while. “But you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I did,” he said weakly. In a way, he had. He’d wished he’d taken pictures. 

“Thank you.” Asami took his hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss was brief, Asami’s lips slightly cold. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did. I ...” He felt himself blushing. “I wanted to give you something special.”

Asami stared at him. His eyes were dark and serious, his gaze overwhelming in its intensity. “Anything you give me is special. Any moment with you is precious. Or haven’t you...” He sighed. “I don’t often say it, is that why you felt...”

Akihito didn’t let him finish. He took Asami’s hand in his one and kissed it. “I...” he started, heard the door open, stopped. The door was closed again. “I too don’t say it often,” he said. “But I am grateful. For everything. The good and the bad.”

Asami sighed again. “I’d take away the bad. If I could. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” 

Asami stared at him as if he were lying, as if he were waiting for him to admit he was lying. Then he smiled. “I don’t think this is a love hotel as well as a restaurant,” he said as he stood up. He offered his hand to Akihito. “And I’d rather celebrate my birthday in a different way.” 

Akihito took Asami’s hand and let himself be pulled up. They still hadn’t talked about what mattered, but there might be another year for them. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Asami said. “Wait for me outside.”

Akihito nodded. He waited for two seconds and then followed Asami. He’d rather go to the bathroom there than the station. 

“The bill should be sent to me,” Asami said, nowhere near the bathroom. 

Damn, he should have explained things better. 

“It’s a gift,” a girl said. “There’s no bill. Please, visit us again.”

“I cannot accept that,” Asami continued. 

Akihito was about to walk into the room and drag Asami out when the Manager appeared, winked at him, and went to deal with Asami. 

“Your friend made me laugh when I needed it the most,” the Manager said. “Asami-kun, surely you will let me show my gratitude?”

‘Asami-kun’? He really wished he had his camera and that he could see Asami’s expression at that. 

“Well,” Asami said after a while, “if that is the case, Mibu-sama.”

The girl giggled. 

“Akihito, we’re leaving,” Asami shouted. “If you dare take more pictures, I’ll stuff the roll you-know-where.”

Akihito grinned. As if Asami would ever do that again. “I’ve ran out of film,” he said calmly. “Hey, why did he call you ‘Asami-kun’? Did you go to school together?”

Asami glared at him. Then he smiled. “You really are something else, Takaba. Let’s go home. I have a birthday party to attend.” He smirked. “I wonder if I should pretend to be surprised or give them a surprise of my own.”

Home. Akihito smiled. No matter what Asami did, he’d be there to see it.


End file.
